Flying Home
by Candyland
Summary: [One-shot] An introspective look into the life of one of the characters. A stylistic experiment...


**AN:** This is a kind of different from my usual style, so tell me if you like it. I do skip a few things in the telling of this story, but I think I hit the most important stuff. This is a gorgeous song, and very haunting, and for the most part it seemed to fit fairly well, so I used it. The song is "Flying Home" from the musical _Songs for the New World_. I'm something of a Broadway freak. I don't own the song, the musical, or DBZ.

This is a kind of different from my usual style, so tell me if you like it. I do skip a few things in the telling of this story, but I think I hit the most important stuff. This is a gorgeous song, and very haunting, and for the most part it seemed to fit fairly well, so I used it. The song is "Flying Home" from the musical . I'm something of a Broadway freak. I don't own the song, the musical, or DBZ.****

Flying Home

Daddy!

No…stop hurting my Daddy!

NO!

Anger. Anger and power coursing through him. He pushed it out, and the round metal chamber around him gave way under the pressure. The space pod exploded, and the force sent him flying into the air, shooting out of the crater and onto the grass.

The bad man was hurting Daddy! No no no!

Leave my Daddy ALONE!

Flinging himself at the bad man, ramming his head into the man's chest. The sweet sound of something breaking. And then the power afforded by his anger was gone. And the bad man was coming after him now.

Daddy was yelling at him to run, but he was too scared to run.

The bad man was coming closer and closer…

But Daddy was there. Daddy jumped on the bad man, and the other man—the tall, scary-looking green guy—shot something at the bad man.

And Daddy. The funny light was going to hit Daddy too.

That was the last thing he remembered before the darkness overcame him.

o

o

What happened? Where's my Daddy?

He stood up in the shallow water, sputtering. The tall green man with the big ears was looming over him, with a funny smile on his face.

The green man was speaking in a deep voice. Saying he would have to survive out here alone. What was he talking about? Live? Alone? Out here?

Then the tall man left, flew away. He ran after him.

Piccolo! Come back! I can't stay out here by myself!

But it was to no avail. Piccolo was gone.

But someone else was there...a really big, really hungry dinosaur, looking for dinner.

He ran away, but the dinosaur chased him. Then suddenly, he was up on top of a high cliff, looking down at the ground a long way below him. He was scared—it was so high, and he couldn't get down. And to top it all off, night was starting to fall.

With the darkness came the cold, and hunger. He was so hungry, but he was still stuck on top of the big rock, all alone. He curled up on the cold ground, trying to keep warm, when suddenly two apples appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. But to his hungry mind, it didn't matter where they came from. They were there, and he could eat them. That was enough.

A full stomach helped a great deal, even though he was still cold. Sighing, he looked up at the sky, where a bright silver disk was shining down on the Earth.

The next thing he knew, he was down on the ground with a new outfit, one that looked just like the training clothes his father always wore. And he had a sword, too.

Where did these come from? And how did I get down?

Moments later, when he couldn't keep his balance, he realized that something else was missing.

My tail is gone! Where did it go?

Like with the apples, it didn't matter too much. What mattered was that he was back on the ground, with a new weapon he could use to defend himself.

Still alone in the wilderness, but with a renewed confidence, he started out in search of breakfast. If he was going to be there for as long as Piccolo had said, it wouldn't hurt to explore a little.

o

o

What was he doing? It was another bad man, this one named Nappa. He'd killed all the good people. But it didn't make any sense—in all the stories he'd ever read, it was always the good guys who were supposed to win. The good guys always triumphed over the bad guys, and the bad guys usually were killed or something like that.

But that wasn't what was happening. The bad guy was winning. How could that be?

He was getting angry, and his anger came through when the bad man came at him. He jumped and landed a perfect kick, right on the side of Nappa's head. The big, bad man went flying backwards into a rock. Piccolo looked stunned.

And then the bad man got back up, and boy, did he look mad. Nappa began forming a big white ki ball in his hand. It was only when the bad guy pulled his hand back to throw the thing that he realized where it was aimed. Right at him.

He was too scared to move. It was the end.

But Piccolo was there...Piccolo, the stern man who had left him alone in the wilderness to survive; the angry man who had killed his father; the distant man he considered a friend, even though he doubted Piccolo would ever agree to it. Piccolo was there, standing in front of him. Taking the blast.

No, Piccolo! Don't! Piccolo!

It seemed an eternity before the light stopped, and Piccolo collapsed. He crawled over to his fallen mentor and rolled him over onto his stomach. He listened with tears in his eyes as Piccolo talked to him and thanked him for things that had happened over the past year, things that he hadn't even been aware of. And then Piccolo's eyes closed and his head lulled to the side. And then Piccolo faded away, leaving only an scorched, empty patch of ground.

PICCOLO!

The rage welled up within him, and afforded him one good solid blast. Had Nappa not already been on his battle instincts, the attack might have done damage, or possibly even killed him. But the brute was ready, and knocked the blast aside.

His rage drained and gave way to exhaustion. He was completely defenseless, bereft of the man who had been his teacher and only companion for nearly a year, and alone at the mercy of the bad guy who had killed so many good people and destroyed so much. Nearby, Krillen was yelling at him to run.

I can't run. Piccolo wouldn't run.

Nappa was laughing, and raised his foot to crush his opponent.

He closed his eyes and braced himself for the impact, but it never came. Instead, something hit him in the side, picking him up and half-carrying, half-dragging him to safety. He ended up on top of something...something soft and warm...almost like cloud-fleece.

As he discovered when he opened his eyes and looked around, he _was_ on a cloud.

...Nimbus?

And if the Flying Nimbus was there, that could only mean one thing.

...Daddy?

o

o

Frieza grinned evilly, and extended a single finger. A tiny red light formed at the tip.

He couldn't see the beam actually move, but the newly-revived Piccolo did. And Piccolo acted, shoving his father out of the way and taking the hit himself, just as he had before, this time for father instead of son. And once again, Piccolo fell.

He walked forward slowly and dropped to his knees beside his mentor. A look of pain was still cemented on Piccolo's face.

No...PICCOLO!

Nearby, Dad was standing with his back to the scene. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and he was saying that they all needed to leave the planet right away.

He protested. There was no way that he was going to leave his father to face that monster alone!

Unfortunately, it was Frieza who made the call as to who would be able to leave and who wouldn't. The evil one held out his hand, and Krillen was knocked back several feet, only to find himself hovering a few inches off the ground with no control over his flight.

Then Frieza made a gesture, and Krillen shot into the air. Dad yelled, but it was too late. Frieza squeezed his hand, and Krillen was gone, blown up.

Krillen had been the only stable thing around him since they'd left for Namek. Sure, Bulma was there, but she had spent the entire time in hiding. She hadn't been around for the actual fighting, and she hadn't seen what Frieza and his henchmen were capable of. It had all been Krillen. Krillen, who stood up to Vegeta...the Ginyu Force...Captain Ginyu in Goku's body...and finally, Frieza himself.

No...Krillen...

Fear mingled with anger in his mind, battling for supremacy, with fear eventually winning out. He started to shake, still down on his knees beside the fallen Piccolo. It was Dad who was getting angry.

The waves crashed against the tiny rock they were standing on. Lightning split the cloudy sky overhead. Small rocks, given powers of flight by the force of Dad's growing power, levitated off the ground and crumbled in midair. And before his terrified eyes, his father—the ever-calm, relentlessly cheerful Son Goku—lost it.

In a burst of golden light, something amazing happened. Dad's hair stood on end and bleached itself to a gold-white color; the dark irises of his eyes actually faded to white before reappearing not black, but a green-blue. And he was glowing, a pulsing aura the same color as his hair.

Dad turned and ordered him to leave. He froze, paralyzed with terror. And then Dad yelled at him. Dad never, _ever _yelled at him. The sound of his father's angry voice shook him from his immobility, and he took to the air, carrying the injured Piccolo over his shoulder. He left Dad behind to face the evil tyrant Frieza and avenge the Saiyan race, including Vegeta.

Seeing Vegeta's death had shocked him. He had never believed that seeing an enemy's death would bother him so, but it did. Vegeta had been helpless and posed no threat in the state he'd been in, and yet Frieza had slaughtered him, destroyed him as casually as any normal man might eat a radish. The very thought enraged him now.

But now he left Dad behind to take on the threat, completely alone.

My father...a Super Saiyan.

_o_

_o_

Pieces went flying into the air as Cell's foot came down full force on top of the android's severed head. A small microchip bounced across the ground, finally coming to a stop. The tiny light on the chip flickered a few times before extinguishing. Thus ended the life of Android Number Sixteen.

He watched in horror. Had the android not been programmed to kill Son Goku, he would never have harmed any living creature. And now he had been killed in the coldest blood.

The purest rage—an angry dragon of power—stirred within him, and the tedious grip he'd been holding on his temper throughout this whole battle slipped. With an agonized yell, he unleashed the beast that he had fought so hard to restrain inside him.

The dragon was furious...and very, very hungry. And now that it was loose, it would not be tamed again. It would run free, and ravage all that came into its path. And what came into its path first were the Cell Juniors, the small creatures that had tortured his friends.

His eyebrows lowered over angrily-flashing emerald eyes, and his lips twisted into a snarl. This battle was his now. The dragon would not be denied. The dragon would feed.

It was over quickly, and the Cell Juniors were but a memory.

Still not sated, he—still the embodiment of the dragon—turned his attentions to the real prize.

Cell himself.

Within a short period of time, he had managed to nearly destroy the beast. From the sidelines, he could hear his father's voice. Dad was yelling for him to finish the creature off, to kill him.

No. I want him to suffer.

Cell struggled to his feet, and grinned evilly at him. Then he began to inflate, like a balloon. He then announced that he was going to explode, and when he did, he would take the world with him.

Oh no...all my fault...

Then Dad was there. Dad, telling him to take care of his mother. Dad, saying how proud he was. Dad, saying goodbye...

No, Dad! Come back!

But it was too late. Dad was gone.

Under the force of his grief and guilt, the dragon withdrew, seething inside him, waiting to be unleashed again to feed and destroy. He was vaguely aware of someone standing over him, speaking to him, telling him that they had to go home.

I can't go home. What am I going to tell my mom?

A beam of light appeared, hitting Trunks, piercing his armor, and going right through his chest. The son of Vegeta fell backwards. For a moment he was still; then he coughed, blood spurting from a gaping hole in his chest, and then he was still once again. This time, he did not move again.

Cell was back. Dad's sacrifice had been in vain.

But it was Vegeta, angered by the death of his son, who took the first initiative against the monster. Yet it was to no avail, and Cell prepared what would undoubtedly be a death blow.

No! He ran forward and threw himself in the path of the blast that would have easily destroyed Vegeta, and the attack hit his left side. Pain, like a million stabbing knives, seared through his left arm. When he got back to his feet, he realized that he no longer had use of that arm.

Cell was preparing another attack—a Kamehameha wave—with the intent of destroying the planet. But he couldn't let that happen. Not after Dad sacrificed himself to make up for his mistakes.

Without even thinking about it, he powered up his own Kamehameha, one-handed, and prepared to counter-attack. The dragon, borne of his anger and power, was unleashed once more. Nothing would stop him; he was wearing the diamond-pure mask of vengeance. He knew that the fate of Earth rested quite squarely on his shoulders, and he refused to buckle under the weight. He was an arrow of vengeance loosed from the hand of the Saiyan race and the bow of the planet Earth.

The battle waged, like a tug-of-war. He was only partially aware that his friends were trying to help, but having no effect. Then the most unlikely ally came to his aid—Vegeta, who launched a powerful enough attack to actually distract Cell long enough for him to overpower the beast.

And somewhere, beneath the pain that was coursing through his entire body, he could have sworn he heard his father's voice. But he knew it was just his imagination.

o

o

His hands clenched into fists as he tried to keep a check on his anger. But Videl was getting stomped, far beyond what could be considered reasonable, and no one was doing anything to stop it.

Why doesn't someone stop this? This has gone far enough!

Anger took over long enough for him to be engulfed in a pulsing ivory-yellow aura and transform to the Super Saiyan. His father—back from Otherworld just for the day, complete with a halo to mark him as a returned soul—told him to calm down, that he wasn't going out there.

Just try and stop me!

The cloth he had been wearing wrapped around his head like a turban was blown off of his now-blonde hair, and his red cape was ripped from his shoulders by the force of his aura. Both fluttered soundlessly to the ground.

He jumped out, prepared to kill the man who was torturing Videl so, when someone else stepped in and told Spopovitch to finish it up. Somewhat grudgingly, the bald brute kicked her off the edge of the platform and out of the ring. The crowd sat in a stunned silence.

Seeing that Videl was no longer in danger, his rage dissipated, and he allowed himself to drop from Super Saiyan to his normal form before running over and gathering her lifeless body in his arms. He then turned and addressed the animal who had done this to her.

Spopovitch...you're mine.

It didn't take long to get her to the hospital wing, and moments later, Hercule burst in, demanding to know what had befallen his daughter. He stood by the edge of the bed, not quite sure if he should speak or not, until Hercule addressed him, asking what he was doing there.

The monk tending to Videl's wounds supplied the answer, that he had brought Videl in. Hercule's attitude changed somewhat, and he dismissed him, saying he would send him an autograph or something. Unsure of what to say, he managed a polite goodbye and headed for the door when a voice stopped him.

Videl, asking him to get Spopovitch for her. He immediately agreed.

I just have to win my next match.

Giving her a smile, he left Videl with her now-confused father, closing the door behind him. He was ready to take that guy down.

o

o

The pink blob just appeared out of nowhere, right in front of him. How had it caught up? It didn't seem to notice his amazement, but danced around a little before knocking him out of the air with a ki blast.

His next attempt against Majin Buu didn't last long, and he was sent flying through the air on a huge ki blast that he was powerless to defend against or stop. It hurt like hell, yet he couldn't summon up enough power or control to do anything.

Suddenly, something detonated the ki blast, and he was thrown quite painfully away from the explosion. He fell through the canopy of a forest, hitting several branches on the way down, until finally, the ground quietly, violently, and painfully introduced itself. He lay there, unable to move or speak. He couldn't even will his eyes to open.

Millions of thoughts flashed through his mind—the things he had done, the places he had seen, the enemies he had fought, and the people he knew. The faces of friends and family danced across his memory, along with things they had said or done in his presence. Had he been able to smile or laugh at some of the images, he would have. Had he been able to cry or scream at other memories, he would have done that too.

But he could not. All he could do was think and hurt.

His whole life played out in front of him. So it was true, then. When a person died, their life really did flash before their eyes. It was very nearly overwhelming, bringing out a pain he hadn't felt since the Cell Games. Emotional torture mixed with physical agony, and the two mingled into one terrible, excruciating whole that he couldn't muster up a defense against.

And finally, it became too much. The battle had taken its toll, just as it always did. And he fell, fell into the blessed arms of darkness.

o

o

AN: Like I said, I'm experimenting with some different angles and styles, and this is one of my little experimentations. If you don't like it, tell me so, though I hope you enjoyed it, and I _really_ hope you figured out that this is about Son Gohan. I analyze these characters for fun - Well, review if you like, but I don't require it. Arigatou!


End file.
